


Hot for Teacher

by BirdWhistle



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hot Sex, friends with benefits?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdWhistle/pseuds/BirdWhistle
Summary: Britta is horny and she knows of one lonely brit who'd be more than willing to help her out.





	1. Ian's office

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so very sorry. This is... I don't know what it is. Well, it's my first fic, I know that much.  
> What can I say? I really enjoy the idea of Professor Duncan (grrr) having sexy times with a needlessly defiant cat lover.  
> Sorry for the lame title :3

Ian didn't quite know how he felt. He and Britta had just had sex. Well, not just, more like recently. Very recently. He had, however, just gotten home, and he hesitated. Should he take a shower? There had been no removing of clothing, save for Britta's knickers (they were blue cotton hipsters). Yes, they had sweated, of course, but their bodies had come in contact through several layers of clothes; not even their faces had been significantly close. When given too much thought, both Ian and an outsider could argue that the encounter was rather cold and detached. Except it hadn't been. It had been hot and sweaty and they had panted and Britta had moaned loudly and her fingers had pullled his hair and fuck, he was getting hard just remembering all of it. 

He sighed and sat on the sofa. “Britta”, he whispered. She had come to his office; she entered, closed the door and locked it. His surprise had manifested in a minor raise of his brows. The first thing that flew to his mind was therapy, or something akin to therapy. He had, after all, helped her during her existential crisis -he was glad she had rid herself of those horrible “friends”-, and it had cost him a shag. It'd been for the better; he wasn't sure the sex wouldn't have been terrible and both of them would've wound up hating themselves, and hating each other, by extension.

So there she was, in his office, looking... like she was up to something. Britta was seldom up to anything. He started to speak but she shook her head; the gesture had been brief and almost unnoticeable, yet effective: he kept his mouth shut. She sat down in front of him, silent. For some moments they just looked at each other, Ian thinking about how beautiful her face was, and how her soft, golden hair waved around it, even when she was still. Only God knows what she must have been pondering during those moments. “Would you like to have sex with me, professor Duncan?”, she said. Had he been drinking something, he surely would have spat it out in a dramatic fashion, like in a tv show. Since his mouth was clear, he could only stare at her, bewildered. Her expression was soft, and then an almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. He hadn't answered, he realized. Was she serious? For fuck's sake, that would be a very cruel joke.

She stood then, walked around his messy desk and came close to him. “Answer me, Ian”, she said. He nodded. Before anything regrettable could be done, he asked, “why?”. “Why not?”, she answered. That response was not satisfactory, and he said so. “I'm horny, so I thought of you. I haven't had sex in a while, and yes, I do masturbate, professor, but sometimes engaging with a penis and a man who's attached to it can be nice. I...” her words faltered, and he wondered if she was losing her nerve. “I just want to fuck someone, and since I'm heterosexual, it must be a man. Jeff's out of the question, too complicated. A stranger in a bar could suffice, but then you came to mind, so here I am. Do you want to have sex with me, Ian? Right now? Give me a verbal answer, whether affirmative or negative. That's all I need”.

Ian stood from his chair and looked at her in the eye. “Yes”. She smiled. He leaned forward, his lips eager to land on hers. She stopped him short. “No kissing”, she said. Ian was surprised. Was it his breath? He hadn't been drinking, nor had he eaten anything in the last few hours. Britta noticed his questioning gaze so she spoke. “Kissing is... meaningful and stuff. I think it's better if we keep it as raw as we can. No complications. Kisses have a tendency to complicate things, ask Annie and Jeff”. That last remark surprised him; she didn't sound bitter, she just sounded certain. Plus, he didn't know Winger and Annie were involved, although there was a tension sometimes between those two that could easily be sexual. But that was a thought for some other time. Right then, Britta, the woman he'd been pursuing fruitlessly, was in front of him, slowly unbuttoning her dress -only then did he notice she was wearing a dress-.

He watched, fascinated, as more of her creamy skin became visible, her collarbone deliciously enticing, and then her breasts appeared wrapped in a black bra, a tiny blue bow nestled between them. He actually felt his mouth water, his pulse racing in his wrists, his chest moving up and down to the rhythm of his rapid breathing; he held still and just gazed at her, she was so beautiful, so pearly, so beckoning. He raised his hands and slowly approached them to her skin, his eyes fixed on hers, asking for permission. She opened her mouth slightly and sucked in a small breath when his hands made contact. He just ran the tips of his fingers down her chest, then slid them to her bare arms, still running them up and down, his thumbs caressing her clavicle when his hands reached her shoulders. Her nipples were hard, and Ian felt them with his fingers through the fabric, his whole body itching to just push the bra down and close his mouth around one of them. Britta let out her first moan when he did just that. God, it felt heavenly: her breasts prying his lips open, her nipples rolling against his tongue; the taste of her skin was a taste he would give up brushing his teeth for the rest of his life for, _holy fuck_ , he was so hard.

Britta pushed him apart softly, then took one of his hands in hers and directed it to her knickers. His fingers grazed the cotton; unceremoniously he pushed a couple inside her panties, feeling the soft hair under them. Ian shivered. She was wet. Fuck, she was wet. Well, he wanted her to be wetter. His thumb found her clit, and he stroked it as gently as he could. He felt Britta tense up; he saw her close her eyes and moan lowly. He also felt the unequivocal need to kiss her, to chase her tongue with his own, to pull at her lower lip with his teeth, to mingle his breath with hers, dear god, he even inched closer, her mouth looked so beautiful, so alluring, but he refrained himself, focusing all his attention and all his energy in caressing her clit; he wet his thumb quickly in his mouth, tasting, for one brief second, the juices of her cunt. _If there's a next time, I'll get down on my knees and make her come with my mouth_ , he thought. But in that moment, he was bringing her to orgasm via his thumbs, because while his right one played with her clit, his left one caressed her nipple, and Britta was moaning nonstop, her hips swaying back and forth, her eyes closed and one of her hands clutching his shirt while the other one gripped the edge of his desk so tightly, her knuckles were white.

“Come for me, Britta”, he whispered. “Come for me, my beautiful, beautiful Britta”. Britta opened her eyes and looked at him. But that look lasted less than a second, cause she closed her eyes again and, fuck, fuck, she was coming, she was unraveling, her entire body seemed to contract all of its muscles and then slacken them, her mouth adopted first the shape of an O, then she opened it and it released a half-moan, half-scream, then she bit her lower lip and then her lips started to tremble slightly, and Ian watched it all in such a state of wonder and arousal that he feared he would fucking come the minute she touched his cock. Britta had opened her eyes. They looked almost bluer.

“Could you pull down my knickers, please?”, she asked in a soft voice. Ian began to nod, but then just knelt down and hooked his fingers in her, as she'd said, knickers. He almost chuckled, for 'knickers' was a british word. He pulled them down her legs, and a small moan escaped his lips when he saw how wet they were. Britta stepped out of them, and Ian couldn't resist planting a kiss on her mound before rising, her scent almost sending his brain into overdrive. He felt her sigh, her fingers tangling in his hair for a few seconds.

He stood before her, fully clothed, and Britta adjusted her bra so it covered her breasts again. Then she reached down and unzipped his pants. It was such a quick movement that Ian stepped back, unbalanced. “Sorry”, he murmured. Britta smiled and unbuckled his belt, more slowly this time. Her hand reached into his underpants, grabbing his hard cock. _Oh_. “Oh”, he said, barely more than a whisper. She pulled down his pants and underwear to just below his hips. A tiny bead of precum glistened on the tip of his cock, and Britta used her thumb to spread it all over the head, taking her time then to stroke his cock up and down in a continuous, steady motion. Ian breathed out hard, his eyes refusing to close, being too focused on Britta's expression, a mix of concentration and wickedness that only aroused him further. He had nothing to hold him in place, nothing to balance him, his arms hanging lax by his sides until he raised them and perched his hands on her shoulders, holding her tightly. “Stop, please”. Britta stopped and asked him to sit down.

He sat on his office chair, his pants and underpants halfway down his legs, he felt so hot, he wanted to untie his tie but he didn't dare move, he was far too enthralled by Britta's state of semi-undress, her hands rummaging in her purse, looking for something. She finally took out a condom, ripping the foil deftly and looking at him with what looked like an embarrassed smile on her face. “Stand up”, she said, letting out a small giggle. Ian smiled back and raised himself from the chair, edging close to her. She grabbed the tip of the condom with her right thumb and index and rolled it down his cock gently and swiftly with her left hand. “Sit down”, she asked again, both her face and her tone neutral. Ian sat back down and waited. They stared at each other for a few seconds, as if they had something to say, but no words were spoken, so Britta, in what had to be the most graceful movement he'd ever seen of her, spread her legs around his and took his cock in her hand. He was inside her in a nanosecond. They both released a sigh that seemed to come out of the depths of their lungs and that made the air around them a bit heavier.

Ian felt... he felt Britta engulf him with her wetness, her warmth, and it was the best feeling in the world. He grabbed her hips and, wordlessly, commanded her to move. Britta settled her hands on his shoulders and began to move her hips back and forth, back and forth, breaking the silence that had surrounded them with a lenghty, heartfelt moan. When she started describing narrow circles with her hips as well as rocking back and forth, Ian lost himself. He closed his eyes and sought her shoulder with his face, grunting as he aided her by pushing inside of her as deep as he could, their hips thus beginning a sultry dance that made both of them grip each other's arms, waists, necks, anything their hands could reach, sighs and moans and growls filling the musky atmosphere of Ian's office. Britta rode him hard, squeezing her knees around him, her hands pulling his hair now softly, now aggresively, until she started moving faster, seeking more friction, “fuck, I'm close”, she whimpered, she fucking whimpered in his ear, “don't come just yet, please, please, please...”, it resembled a prayer, and Ian wanted to answer, he wanted her to come again, he wanted her to come all over his cock, to scream as she tightened around him, “more, fuck, more”, she demanded, so Ian lowered his hand and began to stroke her clit like he'd done a few minutes ago, and Britta, God, she sobbed, “yes, yes”, her voice barely audible, and Ian felt that need in his chest again, the need to kiss her ruthlessly, to bruise her mouth with his own, to bite her hard, and he got dangerously close to do so, but then she came and her head fell back and her mouth let go one of the loudest moans of the evening, and she became so unbelievably tight Ian could do nothing more than follow suit, coming deep within her, his throat, like Britta's, releasing a loud, long moan of overwhelming pleasure.

In the aftermath, they sat there, amidst their panting, their limbs still entwined, their racing hearts thumping inside their chests, both of them, however, silent in their respective satisfactions. It had been a nice feeling, almost intimate, but it'd ended rather quickly, Britta soon starting to disentangle from his body, her eyes hazy and her skin somewhat glowy from the sweat. She hadn't looked at him while she buttoned up her dress and put her knickers back on. It was only when she grabbed her purse that she turned to him, almost expecting him to still be in his chair based on the slight surprise drawn on her face when she saw him standing in front of her, his clothes kind of wrinkled but in place. She gave him a small smile and leaned towards him to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you”, she said. She turned around and walked to the door, unlocking it. She turned again and said she'd see him the next day in the committee reunion. Ian wanted to stop her, _what the fuck?_ , he thought, she couldn't just walk away after that mind-blowing shag, that was just rude. He tried to speak, but his words failed him. Britta walked out of the office, shutting the door behind her.


	2. The facts were these part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian ponders what transpired between him and Britta in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter, I'm afraid. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this story, to be honest. But hey, a little ponderin' never hurt nobody.

Ian didn't take a shower, he just brushed his teeth -reluctantly- and went to bed. The encounter with Britta in his office was making him feel more lonely than usual. It had been a long time since he had last had sex with a woman; it had been some random stranger he'd met at a bar and they both had been very drunk. In fact, many of his sexual escapades had been of a similar nature: boozed hook-ups in dark alleys or dirty bathrooms. He had slept with prostitutes, yes, and he wasn't proud of that. He didn't consider prostitution questionable or immoral, but he deemed the men who turned to it sad and pathetic. What irked him about his encounter with Britta, however amazing it had been, was the kissing part. Or the no kissing part, he should say. It irked him because those prostitutes he'd hired in the past had a rule like that: no kissing. He hadn't minded, he'd been in and out, literally.

But Britta was Britta. Britta was... Britta. She was an incredible person; damaged, of course, but who in the Save Greendale Committee wasn't? They were all fucked up somehow, he probably more than the rest. He considered his existence sad and pointless. Countless times he had turned to alcohol to ease his troubles, but now he was trying to rise above that and act as a responsible adult. He liked his job in that wacky school, he had people he could hang out with, friends he could rely upon. Well, life could be worse, he thought. But now he had managed to accomplish a ridiculous goal he'd set for himself: have sex with Britta.

God, she was so great. “Made of awesome”, as he'd heard someone in a tv show refer to their girlfriend. Yes, Britta was indeed made of awesome. She was intelligent and brave and kind; she went out of her way to help others, to make everyone's life easier, more livable. She was clumsy and could be quite heavy-handed in her beliefs, as well as outright aggresive and way too intense. Many of her issues stemed from a misplaced self-loathing, and it could be painful to just watch her analyze her troubled existence, to be so hard on herself.

Yes, he had wanted her because she hadn't wanted him in the least, it was an issue he had. But now that he'd had her, he still wanted her. She had come to him out of need, out of sexual need, for fuck's sake. And if he was honest with himself, _she_ had had him, not the other way around. And no, he didn't feel used. She had asked and he'd said yes. He had received as much as he had given. To be able to hold her so close, to embrace her, to touch her, to make her come with his touch, to sit underneath her and watch her move in pleasure, it certainly had been one of the finest moments of his life. It did make him sad that he hadn't gotten the opportunity to kiss her. Was kissing that meaningful, as she'd said? _Meaningful and stuff_. Yes. Right now he was suffering because he'd had no chance to taste Britta's soft lips, to have her mouth move against his, to run his tongue along her lower lip before slipping it in. That hadn't been fair, thought Ian. If you're gonna fuck someone, at least have the decency to kiss the life out of them while doing so.

Now what? He easily sees Britta pretending it never happened. No, he wouldn't have any of that. He wouldn't be reckless enough to tell other people (although Jeff had to know, and telling him would be difficult and super awkward), but he wanted her to at least acknowledge it had happened, even if it was just between them. That could help him soothe the hurt of not being able to be with her again.


	3. The facts were these part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britta does some post-coital pondering of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My reckless self-indulgence continues :)

Britta pondered whether she should take a shower. She was still a bit dazed; the ride home had been a solitary one, but she was still under the effects of all those feel-good hormones her brain had released during her encounter with Duncan.

Who would have thought? She didn't take her time to imagine what Ian would be like as a lover cause it might cause her to lose her nerve and give up altogether. But she did have, while walking to his office, flashing images of a quick-paced, messy, full-of-dirty-british-slang fuck in a dark, creepy office. She couldn't have been any further from the truth, and she was glad she'd been mistaken. Yes, she certainly had been deliciously mistaken, as the dull yet comforting ache between her thighs reminded her.

Two orgasms. Two great orgasms. Ian had felt so good pressed up against her, under her control; she had felt so good under his tantalizing touch; his hands were warm and soft, his fingers long and dexterous... she shivered just remembering it. Professor Duncan had surprised her with his solid frame, his strong hips, his luscious words. _Come for me, my beautiful, beautiful Britta_. Had she had to guess, she would have said Ducan was the kind of man who just shouted either incoherences or timid slurs. Instead, he had encouraged her with sensual whispers, urging her to unravel before him, for him.

There were moments in which he looked eager to kiss her: when he was busy giving her an orgasm with his fingers, she felt him inch close to her, his breathing reaching her cheeks, as if he was looking to press his mouth on hers, but changing his mind in the last moment. When she was on top of him, his cock buried inside of her, she thought she saw his need to kiss her, for his eyes were fixed on her mouth, his own parted slightly, and for one second she considered lowering her head and pushing her tongue deep inside his mouth, her lips twisting against his in a passionate, sloppy kiss that showed all the heat that was lingering between them in that very moment.

But then she came, and all coherent thought was sucked into a void of blinding pleasure. She vaguely felt him come mere seconds later, his body becoming taut and hard, then lax.

Yeah, it had been a great fuck. She patted herself on the back mentally, going to his office had proven to be a wise decision, after all. Now she was home, pondering whether she should take a shower. Yes, a hot shower would clense her of the remains of an encounter that would never repeat itself.

No matter how fucking awesome it had been, it couldn't happen again, right? While she and Ian weren't exactly friends, they were close acquaintances. But what about the next time she got horny? She loved masturbating, and she did it frequently, but like she'd told Duncan, there were times when another body made things far more exciting. And his body had left her completely satisfied, against all odds.

Britta stepped into her shower and under the hot stream of water. She imagined Duncan there with her, fucking her against the tiles, his wet hair sticking to his face while he pounded into her roughly, his mouth never leaving hers. Well, _fuck_. Now she was turned on. Could they be 'fuck buddies'? She was really curious about his kissing skills, and a woman can always use a couple of good ol' orgasms to clear her head.

She pictured him kneeling down between her legs, licking her pussy avidly, doing exactly what he'd done in his office, only this time with his tongue. _God_ , that thought alone started to make her wet. Yeah, he would flick that tongue just right, her clit would surrender fast and easily to it, he would lick her juices with devotion, his tongue would find his way to her cunt and he would bury it so deep and his nose would tickle her clit and then his tongue would lick it again and he'd suckle it, _you taste so good, Britta, I wanna eat your delicious pussy everyday, come for me, Britta_ , and he would make her scream out his name over and over.

Then she would return the favor. She would kneel before him and tease his cock mercilessly before slipping it into her mouth. He would make the funniest, cutest noises, then he would grunt and whisper her name like a mantra, _Britta, Britta, fuck, Britta, deeper, I want the tip of my cock to touch your throat, yeah, like that, you're such a good girl..._ Britta sighed as she touched herself absent-mindedly.


	4. One more time with feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britta goes back to Ian's office and a steamier déja-vu takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. That's pretty much it. A lengthy chapter of two fictional people exchanging body fluids in a dark office of a Community College. Enjoy! ( ~~Please send help~~ )

Ian was reviewing a paper when Britta entered his office. She, like the day before, was wearing a dress. Earlier that day, in the library, he'd seen her in that dress and his heart had started beating faster than usual: the association was made and it would be impossible to break. She had waved at him with a smile on her lips, but he hadn't seen any hidden intentions or meanings behind it. During the committee reunion, he tried his best to avoid looking in her direction, and she didn't say much either, which made it easier. When it was finished, the group disbanded and they were left alone.

“How are you, Ian?” She asked. He looked at her and said he was good, thanks. He'd barely slept and he had jerked off in the shower that morning thinking about her, but she didn't need to know that. He then excused himself and fled the study room as fast as he could.

And now she was here, in his office yet again. She sat down in front of him, his desk between them. “So are you gonna avoid me from now on?”. Alright then, right to the point. Of course he had no intentions whatsoever of avoiding her, but facing her after what had happened -after what they'd done- was turning out to be a bit more difficult than he thought. It was like eating the best meal in the world and then being told it would be the last time you would ever eat it. It was cruel.

“No”, he told her. “I... I just need some time to adjust. I am aware of the ridiculousness of that statement, but, Britta, you came into my office yesterday and asked me if I wanted to have sex with you, I mean, did you really expect me to say no? And then we had sex, and it was great, it was so fucking great, you are so beautiful and your skin is so soft and you smell wonderful and God, I'll never be able to forget how amazing it felt to be inside of you, how you came undone right before my eyes, right on top of me, and, fuck, Britta...” He took off his glasses and put them on his desk, rubbing his eyes.

Britta stood and it was like a déja vu, she walked around the desk and faced him, but this time she straddled him right away, settling comfortably on his lap. Her eyes were on his, very serious, very blue. Ian swallowed hard, holding his breath. “I wanna fuck you again”, she said. He nodded; he felt so helpless, he was at her mercy, but he wanted to level the ground, and he didn't know how. “Kiss me”, she said. It wasn't a command, it wasn't a request. It was an offer.

She licked her lips and waited. Ian moved his face closer to hers, very, very slowly, testing her resistance. She offered none. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers and exhaled. The scent of mint gum lingered between their faces, and she let out a sound, a small humming of both agreement and impatience. Softly, his lips touched her lips. Britta recoiled unexpectedly, a mischievous smile across her face. She inched close again, and bit his lower lip, tugging at it and making Ian moan in surprise. She then plunged forward again, her breath blowing her toward his mouth, and kissed him hard. The kiss was rough, aggresive, so he responded in kind. The kiss soon became a battle of mouths, a clash of teeth, a war of tongues; she moaned in his mouth and that moan entered him and descended until lodging itself in his lower belly, and yes, his cock was already hard and pressing up against her, and she rubbed herself against it, their mouths never breaking contact.

Ian had lost the ability to think, his brain had almost entirely shut down, and dear lord, it had been one kiss. When they finally tore their mouths apart, they were breathing heavily, Britta's face was blushed and her hair was messy; Ian had run his hands through it in an attempt to bring her even closer to his body. “Fuck me right here on your desk, professor Duncan”, Britta whispered. “Fuck me hard”, she finished. If the first statement had sent an electrical current down his spine, the second one had diverted all of the blood in his body to his cock.

He lifted her up and placed her on the desk; Britta wrapped her legs around his waist, and Ian sort of supported almost all of his weight on her, which caused them to end up close to lying down on the desk, he on top of her. Their mouths had found each other again, and while their kisses were still passionate, they weren't as violent as before. This time, Ian took his time to explore Britta's delectable mouth, _yes, yes_ , she had been right, kissing was so meaningful and stuff, he could feel his whole body getting hot, but at the same time, he felt so irremediably close to her, as if they were sharing small yet significant parts of themselves... He didn't know for how long they kissed without attempting to do anything else, just kissed until their lungs were close to collapsing due to lack of oxygen.

His lips then wondered to her neck, and her shoulder, and his fingers started to unzip her dress and Britta's hand were untying his tie and the undoing the buttons of his vest with a need that almost felt desperate. She rid him of the vest and then the tie and the shirt, and the second his skin was available she attacked it with her mouth, licking his neck and then biting his shoulder, and biting it hard. Ian let out a moan and sought her mouth once more, seeking also to bite her full lower lip and succeeding; each of her moans made his blood run thicker, diminishing his ability to think, reducing him to a purely sensory being.

His hands found her knickers and before he could help himself, he tore them off. Britta gasped in surprise and let out a girly giggle. Then, she slowly, slowly approached his face and kissed him again. “I wanna eat you out”, he murmured between kisses. “Yeah?” It wasn't so much a question as it was a moan, because his middle finger was delving into her cunt and his thumb, _God yes_ , it was just like the night before, his thumb was playing with her clit, and Britta could already feel the tension starting to build in her muscles, it felt so good. “Then eat me out”, she stated.

She reluctantly removed Ian's hand from between her legs and held it in her own for a few seconds. Then she took the finger that he'd put inside her and sucked it into her mouth, tasting hersef, and looking intently at Ian, weighing is reaction. He simply stared at her, but Britta felt -knew- she had never been looked at with such lustful helplessness. Ian began to move his finger to and fro, describing a pumping motion, and it was easy for Britta to guess what he was imagining. He removed his finger from her mouth and dipped it again deep in her cunt, where he made a 'come hither' motion that struck all the right nerves, causing her to let go of an “ooh” that went on for several o's. Then he took it out and put it back in her mouth, urging her to suck on it, and she gleefully complied.

She kissed him then, making him taste her juices through her mouth. “I bet it tastes better right from the source”, he murmured against her lips. She hummed in agreement and giggled a bit, then reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, taking Ian's hands and placing them on her breasts. His thumbs feathered her nipples, the scant friction more provoking than actual touching. He then lowered his head and started licking one, then the other one, then he pushed her breasts together and ran his tongue along the valley between them; his tongue then continued its path downward until it found its destination.

Britta couldn't help but moan in anticipation. His breath was warm, but it still sent shivers up her spine. She knew she was really wet, and that foreign tongue of his would have her drenched soon enough. Like the night before, he planted a soft kiss on her pubis, right above the juction of her lips. The gesture was almost chaste, but then the tip of his tongue sought her clit in a lush whim, caressing it in a silken manner that was absolutely maddening.

He opened his mouth and started to suckle on the hood of her clit, then made his tongue wander around it, then descend to the very entrance of her pussy, dipping it deeply, only to remove it and have it land on her clit once more, his eager lips following unconditionally. His hands squeezed her hips and moved her closer to him, perching her legs on his shoulders and resuming the fantastic make-out session he was having with her pussy.

Britta could feel the familiar waves of pleasure rip throughout her body: a tingle that began in her chest and then spread downward, until the very place where Ian's mouth worked its wonders. Her limbs felt tense, as if they were preparing for the predictable implosion. The more Ian kissed her and licked her, the tauter her body became, her fingernails scratching the wooden desk, her head lolling backwards, her brain delving into a mist of feelings rather than words, and the words that managed to come out of her mouth were either incoherences, curses or pleads to western deities she didn't believe in. Jesus, fuck, fuck, dear God, ooh, oh, holy fuck, something that sounded like right there, and, amidst the exquisite chaos that reigned in her brain, his name escaped unscathed: Ian, Ian, Ian, fuck, Ian, yeah, Jesus, Ian...

When he heard her cry out his name like that, Ian's pulse raced so fast he thought we would have a heart attack any minute. He was already so aroused, his cock straining against the confinement of his underpants, drops of precum wetting them here and there. Britta's taste was overwhelming; her juices flooded his mouth and coated his tongue, and he relished them with gusto. He felt the tension that pulled at her body and that increased with every lap of his tongue. He saw her clawing at the desk, he saw her breasts tremble, her nipples hard and beckoning: it was a shame he only had one mouth.

He couldn't see her face, for her head has hanging back, but he imagined her with her eyes closed and her mouth open, her brows drawn together, pearls of sweat on her forehead. The string of curses that fled that pretty mouth was impressive, and when his own name emerged, he felt a pang of pride in his chest, along with another, more obscure feeling he wasn't able to identify. But he had a task at hand, and he could feel the outcome was very, very close.

Britta's fingers had tangled themselves in his hair, alternating between soft and hard pulls, and then it happened: she held still for the briefest of seconds, and then her body stretched in an outward motion of uncontrolled pleasure. Her back arched and her nails dug painfully in his scalp; a prolonged moan erupted from her throat, followed by smaller moans that resembled the echos of that first one. Her body then seemed to fold back into place, although she was still shaking a bit. Her hands were on his shoulders; her eyes remained closed and her breathing was still fast and shallow. She had lowered her legs, that now hung next to his arms: she looked like a life-size paper doll.

Ian wondered if she was too tired to continue. But then she opened her eyes and sat up straight, looking at him with a sweet smile on her face. Now, that was a smile he could get used to. She placed her hands on his cheeks, her thumbs tracing the shape of his eyebrows. Her eyes were still a bit glassy, but the look she was giving him was so kind, so pure, he leaned forward and kissed her with all the softness he was capable of.

He held her in his arms and kissed her again, their mouths meeting again and again, their tongues seeking each other with renewed lust. Britta could taste herself in his mouth, and that only turned her on even more. Her hand found his cock, and she slid it up and down several times; she wet her fingers in her mouth and brought them back down, enjoying the hardness in her hand. Ian's cock was of average length, but it was thick and smooth and pink; it was a good-looking cock, and maybe the following day she could have the opportunity to slip it in her mouth and find out what it tasted like.

In that moment, however, she was eager to push it deep inside her cunt. Her lips left his and she searched for a condom in her purse. It was odd to see her perform such a mundane task with her hair all tousled, her cheeks blushed and her body only half-clothed. Ian stood there, his eyes never leaving her face, until she took out the condom, ripped it open and proceeded to roll it down his awaiting cock.

“What was it that I asked you to do, Ian?”, she questioned. “To fuck you right here on this desk, and to fuck you hard”, he answered. Those words were now branded on his brain. She edged closer and bit his lower lip; he hadn't known how much he liked that until she had done it. “Will you fuck me hard, Ian?”, she purred. He slipped his tongue in her mouth and kissed her hard. “I'll fuck you so hard, Britta, you won't be able to walk out of this office so quickly”.

It was a strange choice of words: he had meant them as a provocative answer to her question, but they had sounded more like a warning, like a direct reference to their previous encounter. Their meaning wasn't lost on Britta, who just looked at him almost challengingly, but said nothing. Ian took his cock in his hand and plunged it inside of her. He had to pause for some respite, and in doing so, he leaned his forhead against hers.

The feeling was overpowering; the world could have shattered around them and he would have been the last to notice. He withdrew and then pushed back in, until he set a pace, a ryhthm that followed the movement of his hips against Britta's, who had him surrounded with her legs and had begun to breathe heavily.

Ian started to thrust harder, deeper, his desk and the i objects on it shaking, and, dear God, her heat was almost unberable, but she was so, so wet and the friction made his blood boil; his heart was being pumped by pure desire, pure lust, and it felt so good, so good, so good, and he didn't register the fact that he was saying those words aloud, he was murmuring them to Britta, "so good", "you feel so fucking good", "so good", and she responded with moans and "yeahs" she, like him, wasn't aware she was saying.

His thrusts had become almost ferocious, his fingers entwined in her hair and his other hand gripping Britta's hip so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next day. And yet, despite the roughness of his movements, his kisses weren't harsh nor sluggish. His mouth was like a separate entity, focused on sucking the sweetness out of hers. Britta was holding onto him for dear life: she'd asked him to fuck her hard and he was delivering.

She reached down to where their bodies were joined and started to touch her clit impatiently; the angle of his hips was perfect, and the force with which he was slamming into her was considerable, but she still needed that something more, that elusive friction that would precipitate her to her fall. When Ian noticed her hand between them, he brushed it away and replaced it with his. "Oh God", she moaned. In the midst of the overwhelming deluge of sensations that showered her, she thought that Ian's fingers had already learned the very shape of her clit, and that they had adapted to it in the short span of two office fucks.

He touched her, and he sank into her, and he held her tightly and he kissed her and it was all too much, it threatened to override all logical thought, all reason, all coherence and leave her at his mercy, a mere body subject to primal feelings and actions. But she would be damned if it wasn't a fucking good way to surrender. And then she came, she screamed as she released all of the pressure that had built in her body in the last minutes, and she sought support in Ian's shoulders but at the same time she let go of everything that wasn't that orgasm, which shook her to the bone and obliterated her ability to function, at least for a few moments. She did, however, feel the aftermath of that mind-numbing orgasm.

Ian was pumping into her much faster, and his thrusts were erratic and out of rythm, and his kisses were sloppy, and he was so close, so Britta gathered the remains of her energy and gave him the final push: she kissed him and then bit his lower lip, pulling at it. Ian came undone in the blink of an eye. He seized her and half-moaned, half-growled in her mouth, pouring all of his pleasure in her; his eyes were shut and his arms encircled her in a tight grip, and his hips gave one, two weak thrusts, and he held still.

Their chests heaved in unison, and they stayed like that for some seconds, each in the other's hold, both attempting to regain control of their bodies in their post-orgasmic haze. Ian thought he could stay like that forever, with a content Britta surrounding him with her warm body. Unfortunately, reality was too thick to ignore, even for a couple of damaged therapists.

He softly extricated himself from her body, immediatly feeling the blow of the cold AC on his skin. He removed the condom and threw it in the bin. He began to arrange his clothes, pulling up his pants, putting on his shirt and vest and tie. He was trying not to look at Britta, who was very still on his desk, looking at him. They needed to talk. He had been certain their first encounter the night before would be their last; her attitude had seemed very definitive. Now, here they were, gathering themselves -he, at least- after another fuck. And, holy shit, an even better fuck. And he wanted to do it again. And again, and again, and again.

He wanted to fuck her on his bed, he wanted her to fuck him on her bed. He liked beds, they were really appropiate for fucking, he thought. And it would be more... more intimate. He hated to admit that was what he was looking for. Britta had given him a taste of what it was like to be with her, and now he wanted the whole dish. It had been years since he last fucked someone he cared about, and he cared a lot about Britta. She was Britta! He'd known her for years, and yes, had been trying to get in her pants for that same amount of time. Now that he had accomplished that, he wanted more. Typical Ian Duncan, he thought bitterly.

What would it be like to sleep with her? Actual sleeping. _I'm such a lonely loser_ , he mused in his mind. Britta, with all her weirdness, was too good for him. He noticed Britta was in the same position, still half-undressed. The minute their eyes met, she sprung to action, getting herself to the ground and looking for her bra. When the last button of her dress was buttoned, he spoke.

“Are we gonna talk about this?”. “I suppose”, she said. Without giving him the chance to say anything else, she asked him, “What do you want, Ian?”. It was a fair question. She was looking at him with those big, bright eyes of hers, and he felt like kissing her. _Focus_ , his brain warned him.

“What do you want?”, he retorted. “Is this... a thing? Or did you just want to satisfy a fancy? Please, do not mistake my questions for claims. I... I like you, you know that. You knew that when you came to my office last night, and I haven't been secretive about it. And now, now that this has happened, that this has happened twice, you sure expect me to be eger to repeat it, and you're right. I want you. I want you more now that I've had you. I want you so badly, Britta. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How intelligent and kind? How unreasonable your self-loathing is? I barely slept last night, I couldn't stop thinking about you, about the smell of your hair, about the taste of your skin; I kept hearing every moan, every sigh. This seems to be purely sexual, and I would be out of my mind to oppose to that. But...”

And this is where his will staggered. He craved intimacy, he knew that much. But he feared he was emotionally stunted or far too damaged. He had been alone most of his life, and maybe he wouldn't be able to figure out how to be with someone. Ugh, he was a man in his thirties and he was so fucked up. Right now, he wanted to hold Britta, he wanted her to tell him that they had a chance, thay maybe they could fix each other. But if she felt differently, there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to hear her voice, so he looked at her, waiting for an answer.

“Look, Ian. Sometimes your train of thought is really evident. You can be really easy to read”. That scared him. That really scared him. “I didn't lie to you yesterday. I wanted to have sex and, believe it or not, you were my first choice. I may have had brief thoughts about the potential lousiness of it, about a quick, awful fuck in your office, and when I was proven wrong, I didn't know how to handle it. last night was great, and tonight...” She blushed, and there it was, the need to kiss her that seemed impossible to fight. “Tonight was fucking amazing. And yes, I do want to do it again, and again, and again”.

It was his turn to blush: was he really that obvious? “I just don't know if we're ready, if we're emotionally equipped to handle something like that. You're a professor here, and were bound to see each other all the time, at least for some time. And the others, and Jeff... and us! Look at us, we have so many issues it's almost funny. And maybe that can make it easier, or it could make it a living hell. I don't know. But, goddammit, I cannot refuse amazing sex without even considering it, I mean, I really didn't think it would be this great, and please don't take offense at that. I...”

So many pauses, so many questions and doubts in their minds. “Sex is what I can offer you right now. It would be nice to fuck in a place that isn't your office. Hey, I can actually think of a few places in the school where we could get busy, that would be a lotta fun”, she laughed at her own words. “Only sex, Ian. Are you down for that?”.

He started nodding, even though he wasn't sure if he was, in fact, down for that. But how could he say no? How could he reject such a proposal? The mere thought of making love to Britta on his bed was enough to make him jump at the idea. His head was falling apart trying to answer a thousand questions, but he was nodding, he was agreeing.

Britta stepped closer and took his hand in hers. She then proceeded to suck his thumb. The surprise nearly made him gasp, but it was a groan what escaped his lips. She licked it and sucked it and never stopped looking at him.

“That's not fair”, he mumbled. “I'm just trying to persuade you into what I believe is a mutually beneficial agreement” was her answer. She let go of his hand and moved her face close to his, her fingers caressing his neck. She kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “But I guess you could argue that I'm simply manipulating you”, she whispered. Her tongue followed the contour of his lower lip, then she sank her teeth into it.

Ian closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, he could argue that. But he didn't give a fuck. He grabbed her and kissed her hard. Harder than he intended, but he felt quite conflicted, and the kiss acted as an outlet for his frustration.

Britta retreated and gave him a look full of meaning. She walked to the desk to get her purse and then walked to the door. Before opening it, she turned to him. “You owe me a pair of knickers, professor”. Then she walked out. Ian saw the knickers on the floor near his chair. He picked them up and held them in his hand; they were blue cotton and lace hiphuggers. Another sigh left his mouth as he put the torn knickers in his pocket.


	5. The twines thicken around our rib cages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian goes from eager puppy to mean puppy. But hey, he has his reasons. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These kids were having way too much careless fun. Ugh, feelings, they mess everything up, don't they? They ruin awesome banging sessions. Yes, that's right, some more smut, but there's plot development too, I swear.

Britta felt more like herself wearing pants. She had worn those dresses for Ian's benefit -well, for her benefit too-, but it was time to go back to normal. Plus, the others would start asking questions if she continued to dress like a Zooey Deschanel character.

Now, she is waiting for Ian in a storage room that looked and smelled like it hadn't been visited in quite a while. She'd sent him a text asking him to meet her there. His behaviour towards her had also switched back to regular mode after their second encounter in his office. He'd even thrown a creepy compliment her way that day during the meeting.

Her first reaction, as usual, was to roll her eyes and then look at him in disgust. But when she looked at him, she saw the man that had stood between her open legs, half-naked and moaning and kissing her hard and... she realized she was staring and quickly looked away. But Ian wasn't stupid, and he read her thoughts as if they were on display on her forehead. He smiled at her when she dared lay her eyes on him again.

Well, she'd been expecting a self-satisfied smirk, and there he was, with an actual sweet smile on his face. Ugh, fuck Ian. Wait, she had. Twice. And it had been awesome. _Well, fuck me_. Don't- She focused her attention on what Annie was saying.

After class, she texted him. The night before, when she was driving home, she again thought about what had happened in his office. The sex had been even better the second time. Would it be an upward progression? Would they reach a point in which her orgasms would be so amazing, she would pass out? She shivered just thinking about it.

But then they'd had that conversation, and she could admit to herself she was confused. What did she want? She knew Ian was conflicted about the 'just sex' part. The way he had looked at her in that office... Had Jeff ever looked at her like that? She couldn't remember. She had felt warm and wanted under that gaze. And that only managed to confuse her further.

Perhaps they were a bit too old to pull a 'fuck buddies' trick. But, for the life of her, she could not imagine what a relationship with Duncan would be like. She just couldn't envision a Britta-Ian pairing. What a monumental fuck-up that would be.

But what if... Agh, she wanted to smash her head against a wall. Why did the sex have to be so goddamned good? Why was his body so warm, so soft and yet so solid, pefect for being pressed up against in a fit of passion? Why did her legs find such easy perching around his hips, around his waist, on his shoulders? Why was his mouth so sweet, his kisses so demanding? Damn it, she should have kept the no kissing rule.

 _Tomorrow I'll surprise him with an oral treat_ , she mused. She would kiss him alright, just not on his mouth. Which is why she's waiting for him in a creepy storage room. She heard steps outside and then the knob started turning.

Ian stepped into the room, looking as professorial as ever. Britta had to recognize he had, over the years, developed an appealing sense of style: he dressed like a sober member of a university faculty. His fashion sense matched his personality, she thought. Today he was clad in blue, her favorite color.

She waved at him, her body adopting an almost beckoning posture. He walked to her in a straight line, his eyes fixed on hers. Neither greeted the other verbally: they greeted each other orally. Their mouths met as soon as they closed the distance between them. Britta held him tightly, not wasting time.

Her hands started to unbutton his vest, but she didn't push it off his body. She loosened the knot of his tie, then moved on to his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly. When she encountered naked skin, she dug her nails into it, dragging them from his chest to his stomach. The noise that came out of his mouth -still busy with hers- made her skin erupt in goosebumps. She unfastened his belt, undid the button of his slacks and unzipped them. He wasn't fully hard, but he'd get there in a matter of seconds. She walked him up to a wall, her hand never leaving his trousers. She palmed him softly, taking his tiny gasp as a signal to continue.

Her teeth found a now too familiar lower lip and grabbed it. Ian moaned lowly, his grip around her waist tightening. Her hand continued to move up and down his cock, now, yes, completely hard. Britta had never liked putting a limp dick in her mouth. It felt too much like eating a shitty desert.

She pulled away from the kiss, and the way his mouth tried to follow hers made her skin itch in desire. She looked at him for a few seconds, then dropped to her knees. _Oh God_ , he murmured. Britta eyed him from head to toe. His hair was untousled, she'd have to fix that. His pale skin offered a nice contrast to his dark clothes. His cock, all hard, all pink, was inches away from her face.

She came closer and touched it with the tip of her tongue. He closed his eyes and exhaled all the air that had remained in his lungs since the second she knelt in front of him. He opened them again when he didn't feel any more furtive licks. Britta smiled at him and licked the head, her tongue swirling in minuscule circles, dipping the very tip in the tiny slit.

She closed her mouth around the head and sucked. She was rewarded with a hearty groan. His taste was slightly salty, like that of crackers. Her head plunged forward, her mouth engulfing the entirety of his cock. She drew back and moved forth again, then back, then forth, and she felt his thick cock move in and out of her wet mouth, and above her, Ian was alternating between hisses and moans, his hands circling around her head, as if he didn't know what to do with them. He finally decided to tangle his fingers in her hair, running them through it, his fingertips gently pressing her head.

He refused to close his eyes; the sight of his cock disappearing in her mouth was deeply exhilarating. He had gathered her hair in what seemed to be a ponytail, and he was imperceptibly pushing his hips forward, seeking the slickness of her mouth. The way she hollowed her cheeks to create a vacuum effect was so fucking perfect, and his whole body felt strained and his mind was split between gazing at her plump lips devour his cock and _feeling_ her plump lips devour his cock. He had to stop her before it was too bloody late.

“Britta”, he panted, “are we gonna fuck? Cause if we are, then I need you to stop before I come in that pretty mouth of yours”. The very notion of coming in her mouth was beyond tempting, but not today, and certainly not without asking her first. She gave him a devilish grin before giving his cock a final lick and raising to her feet.

He didn't like the fact that she was fully clothed, so he grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it off. He turned them around, so her back was pushed against the wall. “Can I ask you something?”, she spoke. “What's wrong with your eyes? I mean, what's your condition? If you took them off, would I become a big blur? Cause today I realized that both times we fucked, you didn't take them off. You ate me out wearing them, which, I gotta say, was strangely sexy. Are you blind as a bat?”.

That was probably the last question Ian was expecting, and he laughed when he realized she was right. He hadn't removed them either time. He'd been so caught up in what was happening that he must've simply forgotten about them. Having wearing them for so long, they were pretty much a part of his face now. Being aware of his glasses was like being aware of his nose: he wasn't.

“I'm short-sighted”, he replied. She smiled. “Do you want to take them off? I'd say I'm close enough for you to see me”. He smiled back and nodded. “You will be quite blurry for a few minutes, though, while my eyes adjust”. He reached up and removed them, putting them on a shelf that was almost next to them. Britta was still Britta, only a bit less defined. But her big blue eyes would always be very distinguishable.

Britta looked at him. He looked so different! But she noticed his eyes were a chestnut brown, less dark than they usually appeared behind his glasses. Very pretty eyes, actually. _Don't_ , her mind warned her. “Do you want to kiss me?”, she asked. There were men -and women, she supposed- that made a pet peeve out of being kissed after being gone down on. So she asked him. His answer was to kiss her eagerly.

She embraced him, surrounding his neck with her arms and returning the kiss with as much enthusiasm. Ian identified that foreign taste in Britta's mouth as himself, mixed with her regular sweetness. It was somewhat erotic to savour himself like that, and if she didn't have any problem with him kissing her after going down on her, he wouldn't either with the roles reversed.

Soon, his mouth found itself wondering down the pale column of her neck, then roaming about her shoulder and finally descending until it reached the curve of her breast. He bit the hard nipple through the fabric of the bra, and it was her turn to hiss in delicious agreement. He pushed the bra down and met her breasts with his yearning mouth. And while his mouth kissed and licked and sucked, his hand traveled further down, coming across a denim waistband.

His fingers quickly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, immediately disappearing into them and past her knickers. The soft hair on her mound greeted him, and then, like a invaluable treasure, her wetness. His thumb found her clit -like all those times before- and started to play with it, like all those times before. Her moans were soft and entwined with pants and sighs and gasps and a miriad of little sounds that entered through his ears and made all the blood in his body flow rapidly to his aching cock.

He got down on his knees. He wanted to see her come, he wanted to feel her come, he wanted to taste her as she came. “Are you sure... we have time for this?”, she asked in a whisper as she saw him kneel. “We'll always have time for this, love”.

He looked up and she looked down. Neither of them felt like trying to figure out the meaning of that statement, so Ian focused his eyes on her hips, pushing down the jeans and the knickers until right above her knees. His tongue couldn't have delved in her pussy faster. But at the first contact, its movements became slow and sensual, the tip flicking her clit gently, then sucking it.

Ian lacked many virtues, but nobody could deny he was a fast learner. And he'd learned pretty quickly what Britta needed to unravel under his mouth. And the way her skin glowed with pearls of sweat, the way her chest trembled, the way she bit her lower lip and then let go of it to moan loudly; her delicate fingers pulling his hair and encouraging him to sink his tongue deeper, or to touch her with barely-there touches, all of those things made him crazy and almost painfully hard, and, ah, there it was: lovely Britta coming undone, coming in his mouth, the sheer force of her orgasm releasing enough energy to make her implode like a star in some dark corner of the universe.

Yes, they would always have time for that, even if the mindlessness of that sentence would sentence him to a last encounter in a shady Greendale storage room.

“Ian...” her voice beckoned him upward. He stood in front of her, his mouth covered in her juices. She sought it lazily, her tongue lapping at the remnants of her orgasm. But then their tongues met and the kiss became harsh, hungry, overpowering. She scratched him again, her nails leaving marks on his shoulders and his back, and Ian responded with a wild growl.

She managed to pull the condom out of the back pocket of her jeans; she tore it open and rolled it down his cock. “Fuck me”, Ian heard her say. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Want me to fuck you hard, Britta?”. His mind was a clutter of sensations, none particularly articulate. He responded almost out of instinct, her dirty words spurring dirty words from his own mouth.

“Yeah, fuck me hard”. They got caught up in a sultry frenzy, and Ian pushed inside of her and began to thrust hard, her bum slamming against the wall. She rid him of his vest and shirt, her hands clumsy due to the force with which Ian's body was colliding into hers.

“Harder”, _fuck_ , harder, no tenderness, only animalistic fucking, and Ian followed her command and his hips gathered an incredible momentum; more bruises, for his hands were latched onto her hips with a painful grip and Ian came, a thunderous shout emerging from his throat as he disintegrated within her.

Britta tried to catch her breath, but her lungs refused to settle down. Her whole body ached, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She felt slack, completely limp. If Ian loosened his grip, she would fall to the ground, so she held onto him and stayed still.

 _Jesus fuck_ , were the first coherent words that Ian's mind put together. He had abandoned all sentient thought and had lost himself in Britta's body. Yes, the two previous times he'd felt so much pleasure he thought he would fall apart, but this time... It'd felt like he he'd been trying to override any yearning for anything beyond sex, and Britta had encouraged him.

She had ordered him to fuck her hard, harder, and their kisses had been so savage, so violent. But she hadn't come. She hadn't come and her body felt almost weightless in his hold.

“Britta, are you okay?”

“Yeah... just a bit... roughed up”.

"Did I hurt you? Britta, my lovely Britta, you didn't come. “Did I hur-”

She interrupted him before he could finish the question. “No”, she laughed softly. “No, you didn't hurt me, silly, I'm not made of glass. This wall is very uncomfortable, though, and you did fuck the life out of me, professor. You're stronger than you let on, good sir”.

She chuckled and looked at him in the eye. “You didn't come”, he murmured almost ashamed.

“Oh, I'm sorry, wasn't you who ate me out a moment ago and gave me a mind-blowing orgasm? No, I didn't come while you fucked me senseless, but it sure was a fun ride. And you came hard enough for both of us”.

He kissed her. His mouth needed to be in contact with hers; his fucking life depended on it. He kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster, all the tenderness she'd denied them in all their encounters. And she responded, her lips twisting softly against his, her tongue slowly caressing his, her hands around his neck, her thumbs drawing small circles on the skin behind his ears.

It felt so good to kiss her like this, with no hurry, no intention nor need to do more than kiss. His mouth caught her lips effortlessly, and his tongue chased hers into her mouth, where they twirled in a sweet dance. It was the most languid of kisses, a kiss that wrapped them both in a warm mist that neither of them felt inclined to abandon.

Ian's embrace felt protective, and his body was so warm and supple, and his kiss submersed her in a tide of erotic well-being. For as long as that kiss lasted, she would be trapped in a sea of possibilities and what-if's

So she pulled apart.

When she looked at him, she saw a sad aquiescence in his brown eyes. He looked almost disappointed. No. He had no right to look at her like that. She pushed him off of her and turned her back, adjusting her panties and her jeans. She picked up her sweater from the floor and put it on. She combed her hair with her fingers, and she heard Ian gathering his clothes as well, now wrinkled and dusty. She refused to look at him, but she didn't wanna flee the room like a coward. So she turned around.

He was tying his tie. “I'm sorry I pushed you. That was uncalled for”. He looked at her. He seemed sad, but also angry. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he reconsidered and kept quiet. He seemed to reconsider again, so he spoke.

“I don't like this storage room. It's kind of creepy, like there might be a hidden corpse somewhere, or, God forbid, the Dean's porn stash. Next time, come to my office. I do have a sofa there”. He turned around and left.

Maybe he'd intended to be humorous, but he had sounded cold. Well, she certainly wasn't in a position to be offended, not after the way she'd treated him. She had been too harsh, yes, too dismissive. But she got scared; that kiss... God, that kiss had the potential to crumble her resolve.

She had been right all along: kissing was too meaningful. But why hadn't it been with Jeff? Ian's mouth was... comforting, in a way. But it was also so sensual, so hot and slick and he had a wizard's tongue and she loved the way he moaned when she bit his lower lip and, while that demential fuck against the wall had been an attempt to squash any non-lustful feelings, the subsequent kiss had brought them to life, had nurtured them and set them free to pursue both of them.

Britta realized she was standing alone in a cold storage room. Ian was long gone.


	6. "Hmmm, one of those imponderables"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Britta and Duncan sort of sulk and drink and think about stuff and make decisions, maybe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to CeleryLapel, whose interest and comments warm my cold little heart.

Britta had been absent from the Save Greendale meeting that day. The day before, one day after the storage room... incident, she'd jumped at the first task given out by Annie and had quickly left the room. She didn't look at him once.

Ian didn't want to make any assumptions. He couldn't tell if she was embarrassed or angry; he had no way of knowing if their fling was over. He could ask her, but he didn't know how to approach her. He didn't know if he wanted to approach her. The look she'd given him, the way she'd pushed him away after that breathtaking kiss; Ian had felt an iron fist punching him in the fucking heart. And now, two days later, they found themselves in a standoff neither Britta nor him knew how to handle, let alone break.

First, however, he needed to decide what he wanted. There were three options: one, continue with their crazy, bound-to-hurt-one-or-both-of-them fling; two, end it immediately; or three, tell Britta what he'd wanted to tell her since their first encounter: that, perhaps, they could attempt to make a “more than sex” thing work.

Weren't they a bit old to try to pull this shit? Yes, they both were quite damaged individuals, but they were honest enough to admit they had issues, and they could help each other solve those issues. Britta was, for him, a person whose kindness could help you heal. Yes, she was intense most of the time, but she acted either out of pure passion or clueless naivety. She was a good friend, even when the group didn't exactly reciprocate. He knew she would try to help him if he needed it, if he asked. And he would ask. She would help him become a better man, and he could, in return, help her become a better woman.

Ian imagined them on a date: what would they talk about? A million things. Both of them were people with a penchant for vocalizing every opinion they had; they would engage in ridiculous arguments about silly things that they would sort out with a good fuck. And their serious arguments, they would discuss them with the level of seriousness they deserved, and he knew they would try, sometimes surreptitiously, sometimes plainly, to out-psychology each other. And it would be absurd, but it would be enjoyable: they would always have fun.

Ian saw himself cooking for her -nobody knew he was a more than decent cook, and he would make sure only Britta knew- in his apartment, and she would talk to him about the oppressed population of some southamerican country and he would listen to her, cause he actually enjoyed listening to Britta speak passionately about some cause he had no interest in. And they'd have dinner and then they would fuck in his bed...

God, how he longed to fuck Britta in his bed, to fuck her so hard she would cling to his body and moan incoherences in his ear, and she wouldn't leave hastily afterwards, she would stay, completely naked in his bed, her body very close to his, and they would talk about suff, and then they would fuck again, but more gently this time, and she'd spend the night, and they'd fuck again in the morning, and then they would have coffee together and carpool to Greendale. And, perhaps... daydreaming would do him no good. And neither would hiding his feelings or running from them. Ian Duncan was 35 years old and he'd be fucking damned if he couldn't tell the woman he was crazy about how crazy about her he really was.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

She'd really gone out of her way to avoid Ian. After the storage room... situation, she'd gone home and taken a scorching hot shower. She'd felt like crying, she really had. But she hadn't cried. Shedding tears for someone was not an insignificant fancy. Ian deserved them, but she'd also been too tired to cry, so she went straight to bed, even though sleep eluded her for a big chunk of the night.

Yes, Ian deserved her tears. And he deserved slow, heartfelt kisses. Ian, with his boozy personality, his self-deprecating humor, his weird tendency to make a fool of himself, deserved a healthy romantic relationship. He, like her, like all of them, really, had issues. But he was a good man, and she knew he, like her, was very lonely.

Perhaps that was the reason he wasn't entirely on board with the “only sex” thing. He yearned for someone to help him fight off his loneliness. And, maybe, that wasn't a good enough reason to be with someone. But, could she blame him? Isn't that what most people do? There are those with an almost pathological fear of loneliness, which deprives them of the lovely perks of solitude. And perhaps she wasn't being fair. Not only was she making wild assumptions about him, but she was purposefully disregarding things he had told her.

She remembered the ride home after running into her old 'pals' from her anarchist days, and the fiasco that had turned out to be, followed by inevitable emotional distress. Ian had told her that she best keep in mind that she _is_ someone, even when she is by herself. She admitted she didn't know him well enough, but she had no reasons to deem him a hypocrite. It could be that he had reached that point where solitude starts to shift into loneliness. Only the ascetics could dwell in perpetual solitude. The rest of us regular folks need the company of others.

Britta had had her share of romantic entaglements, and she'd hurt people and had been hurt by people. And now, she was facing a predicament she truly hadn't seen coming: a smitten Ian Duncan. But what if he wasn't just smitten? That word was, perhaps, too condescending. He was an adult, for fuck's sake. And they had only enjoyed three fucks before things got complicated.

So now, they had two options: stop altogether or move past what had happened in the storage room and continue what had the potential to become a toxic affair that would, sooner or later, blow up in their faces.

There was a third option, and it was the option that kept her awake. She liked Ian. He was a genuinely kind man, and he could help her with all of her fucked up issues. He was a good friend, and had become a valuable member of their little group, his presence reassuring after Troy left. And now, after having felt his warm body pressed against her, after having tasted his mouth, his skin, after having heard him say her name in the most lustful of ways, she, of course, saw him in a whole new light. And the idea of fucking him in the intimacy of her small bedroom, of undressing him completely and not partially, was very alluring.

Yes, a deep sexual want drover her to seek him. But she also pictured them both in her bed, after a satisfying fuck, just talking. Or having breakfast the following morning. Breakfast was an important part of her day, and the notion of sharing it with someone, with Ian, wasn't unpleasant. That was the thing: she could see it all perfectly. She wanted to see him sans glasses again. He did have very pretty eyes, damn it.

She'd fallen asleep very late, and had avoided him the next day. She needed to think about what she was going to do, about what he might want to do. The following day she got out of the meeting as soon as she could. She was aware of the fact that Greendale wasn't that big and that they couldn't put this off eternally. But she didn't want to have that conversation in the study room, or the library, or the cafeteria, or his office. Which is why, on the third day after the storage room debacle, Britta found herself knocking on Ian's door.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Ian hadn't been home that day, so Britta could only go back to her apartment and masturbate. She did it quickly, almost angrily, which led to a rather pathetic orgasm. She gave it a second go, this time letting her mind wonder through the haze of her encounters with Ian. She remembered the touch of his fingers, the flicks of his tongue, the eagerness of his kisses, the wildness of his thrusts. Through her thoughts, she attempted to materialize him, to have him kiss her and touch her like he'd done in the past. And, fuck, it worked. She came, and his name slipped out of her lips in a pleading sigh. _I need a drink_ was her first thought. She ended up drinking an entire bottle in the darkness of her living room, wondering where Ian was. Drinking with Jeff, probably. Would he tell him about them? What would Jeff think? Ugh, fuck Jeff. Well, she'd rather fuck Ian.


	7. When we dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britta and Ian find themselves on the verge of... something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but my personal favorite. I would probably throw money at Gillian Jacobs and John Oliver to have them re-enact it.

He had gone to the library to recover a book he'd left on the table of the study room. On his way out, he saw Britta disappear between the bookcases. Ian hesitated. Should he approach her? What would he say? Would she run off? They have been actively avoiding each other for days, so why not continue?

What he didn't realize was that while he asked himself those questions, his feet had started to move in her direction. He found her grazing some books with her fingers, looking for the one she needed.

Ian wasn't significantly close, yet she turned around, startled. They both stood there, face to face, neither uttering a single word. They had so much to say, but the words were so difficult to find, to voice. So, naturally, their mouths did what they did best when they were near each other: they met.

In an instant, they were kissing eagerly, hands roaming about bodies that were much too covered. Feet retreated until Britta's back was pressed against a bookshelf. Clothing was discarded; flesh was felt by anxious fingers, licked by avid tongues; breaths blended while a hand slid across a belly and... It was a passionate waltz both dancers were happy to reprise. Hips swayed in unison, the echoes of their moans and groans and sighs hovering above the silent atmosphere of the library.

They were breathless, their bodies still holding one another. A gentle kiss kept their mouths attached, while her fingers sought the smoothness of his shoulders. His hands were content to rest on her waist.

They both seemed to realize that they were in the library and that, despite the hour, someone could see them. Neither spoke while they dressed, but their eyes followed the other's movements, waiting.

Britta looked at him. She dove head-first into the cold water. “This isn't just sex, is it?”

Ian shook his head. “No, I'm afraid not”.

The library was silent, the space between them almost unfathomable. But Britta stepped forward. She'd thought her feet would feel heavy, lead-like, but no. Ian was right there, and his warmth beckoned her, his whole Ian Duncaness summoned her.

“What now? What happens next?”. _Oh, God_ , is this what it feels like? Is this... certainty? Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she didn't want to go anywhere. Yes, she was scared out of her mind, but she didn't want to go anywhere. She would stay rooted to the ground until he answered. She knew she was certain: she had never wanted to hold someone's hand so badly.

Ian had only been in love once, many years before. Now, with Britta standing in front of him, asking him what happened next, the notion of love entered his life again. _It will be so fucking easy to love you, Britta Perry_.

She had taken the first step, and it had filled him with overwhelming relief. She had literally stepped toward him, slashing the distance with a shuffle of her boots. He answered in kind. He stepped forward, and then took another step. They could easily kiss, they were so close.

“I...”. Britta closed her eyes. _Yes I said yes I will yes_. She opened them. She took his hand in hers.

“I wanted to hold your hand. I want to try, Ian”.

She hadn't finished saying his name when he kissed her. She kissed him back, a moan of pleasure, of solace, of joy leaving her mouth. It felt _so_ good, _he_ felt so good... That had been the primary feeling all those times before, how good he felt. How comfortable his hold was, how seductive his frame could be.

Ian felt like he would never get enough of her mouth. He could stand there kissing her until the very last second of time. But his blood was starting to roar in his ears, and it was almost as if he could sense his home calling out for him. Now that the doubts had vanished, his body felt the utmost need to fuck Britta in his bedroom, on his bed.

“Come home with me”, he said. A twist of her tongue against his was her answer.

“I, for the life of me, have to fuck you on my bed”.

Britta purred in agreement, and he felt her nod. Their faces pulled apart. Britta's eyes were bright, and she was smiling. “I can't have you dying on me, then”.

 _So fucking easy_ , he thought again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly cannot tell if this is too sappy. I mean, the world is already a pretty shitty place, so why inflict misery and pain on two beloved fictional characters, right? Especially when one of them has amazing dimples.


	8. We started a fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britta gets to see Ian's apartment, and gets acquainted with his bedroom. Also, feelings and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. This chapter is a bit long, but it's the last one, so I wanted to make it count. A lot of smut, obviously, but also some cutesy stuff.

Britta stood in Ian's flat, which was lit by a warm, amber light. She then followed him to the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and...

It was strange, she had to admit it. Being there, in what appeared to be a moment of somewhat awkward camaraderie mixed with a vague feeling of romantic intimacy. Was it more the former or the latter?

She was there because they were going to have sex. She wondered what his bedroom would be like. Her thoughts then flew to the part in which she slowly undressed him, and then he would avidly reciprocate, and they would kiss each other everywhere...

“I'm not sure you're listening, anyway”, he was saying. She focused her eyes on him. “Sorry, got a bit distracted”. They'd had sex in the library, and yet she wanted him again. A wicked smile spread across her face.

“I was thinking about how nice it will be to completely undress you”, she told him. Ian blushed. He blushed! Britta giggled. “What were you saying?”, she asked. “I asked you if you wanted something to drink, and was giving you the options. I have beer, wine, orange juice...” Britta shook her head. She wanted his taste unadulterated.

“I remember someone saying he needed to fuck me on his bed”, she said as she inched closer to him.

She sought his mouth, and she felt like she would be bound to seek his mouth for as long as her lungs had air, and soon they were once again tangled in a passionate kiss. His hands found her hair, and then her shoulders, and then her waist. Her teeth found his lower lip. Every time Ian moaned like that, Britta felt her body would catch fire. She found herself blinded by desire, by lust, and her kiss became more and more demanding.

Ian started to walk them to the bedroom; they stumbled across the living room, their mouths refusing to separate. When they reached their destination, Britta stepped back, albeit very reluctantly. They were both out of breath, their chests heaving up and down, eager to be devoid of all oxygen once more.

“You've done something to me, professor”, she whispered as she removed his cardigan. She bit his lip again, though not as hard as before. She started to untie his tie, small kisses fluttering about his neck. He smelled like citric aftershave and sweat and coffee. She started to unbutton his shirt with great patience. Ian watched her take off his clothes with a playful determination on her face. Her fingers set to unfasten his belt, the tips grazing the hardness beneath the fabric of his pants.

He stood there, motionless, as she knelt in front of him. She pulled down his trousers and underpants, and the minute his cock was free of the confinements of his clothes, it was trapped by the wetness of her mouth. He couldn't help but whimper. Britta's mouth had become his haven. She sucked once, twice, three times before releasing his cock with a loud pop. She bit on his thigh, making him jump.

“Take off your shoes”, was her command. He obeyed, and she finished removing all of this lower body garments. There he was: Ian Duncan, completely naked. He was tall, but her upward perspective made him look taller. His skin was pale, speckled with birth marks here and there. His shoulders were broad and heavily freckled. _Yes_. She loved freckles. She couldn't believed she hadn't noticed them before. He was slim and his limbs were long; soft hair covered his chest and trailed down to his stomach...

She stood up and reached for his glasses. His hazel eyes met her, all sweet and craving. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, mussing it. In that very moment, he was the most attractive man in the world. There was no one, no one, she would rather fuck other than Ian Duncan.

She kissed him. His mouth surrendered to hers, as it always did. His body gave off its perpetual warmth, stronger without any clothes covering it. And her skin was itching to melt into it. And that's when Ian's hands sprang to action.

He began to unbutton each of the buttons of her plaid shirt, his fingers caressing the naked skin they encountered. Her breasts, always creamy and supple, were covered with a blue bra. He reached behind her back and unclasped it, freeing them of such a burdensome piece of clothing. His fingertips brushed her nipples, and Britta held her breath. Ian led her to the bed, urging her to lie down.

His lips met hers again, their kiss a insatiable animal that consumed their mouths. But her long, pale neck was next, and it was quickly devoured by hungry lips and teeth. He moved down to her collarbone, and then her nipple was enveloped by his mouth. His mouth didn't want to leave an inch of skin untouched. It roamed across her chest, down her stomach, his tongue delving into her belly button.

Ian unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down her legs, stopping to rid her of her boots, then removing the pants altogether. “Don't make fun of my panties”, she warned him. He smiled. She was wearing pink hipsters with a small kitten printed on the front. But not just any kitty, Hello Kitty.

“You are over 21 years old, correct? I don't want to go to jail”. His joke earned him a kick in the stomach -a soft, playful one-. He laughed and grabbed her foot, biting her ankle.

“Fuck you”, she giggled.

“I'm afraid I will, in fact, fuck you, my lovely Britta”.

He lowered his head and bit her gently through the fabric of the knickers. He then hooked his fingers in the waistband and removed them in a single tug. He took a few seconds to look at her. She was slender, her skin akin to ivory, all pearly and incredibly beckoning. He saw a scar of what he assumed was an appendectomy, and she had a small mole above her hip.

Words would fail to describe how beautiful she was, how fucking lovely. His heart almost ached, a profound desire running through his veins, and, if it was possible, the hint of a prelude, the silhouette of a much deeper feeling that would swallow him whole.

He covered her legs with kisses, starting with her ankles and ascending, dragging his lips across her calves, her thighs, her hips. His mouth finally, finally found her where she needed it the most. She hissed at first contact. A breathy “Ian” escaped her mouth when his tongue gave her a long lick.

Britta rested her body on her elbows, even though it was begging her to lie down. But no, she needed to see him, she needed to see Ian eat her pussy; she watched his tongue go deep inside her, then reemerge to flick her clit, to suck its hood, _holy fuck, God, Ian, ooh_ , her hips started to grind against his face, she couldn't help it, and then he looked at her, he looked at her with those brown eyes of his, “do you like it? Is this good? You taste so fucking good, Britta”, and she felt like she gave affirmative answers, but in reality no words came out of her mouth, only air and moans and fucks; she needed to lie down, so she did, but Ian continued with his vehement licking and kissing and, too much, too much, it's coming, _I'm coming_ , “I'm coming”, and she came, her mind blew up in one million pieces of light and colors and shimmering spots and she ceased to be Britta Perry and became a mindless being of pure sensations.

Her grip on the pillow loosened, her body relaxed, but her eyes remained closed. _Ian_ , she thought.

A lazy smile crept across her face. He had yet to resume his corporeal self: he was more a presence of which she was idly aware.

Ian climbed up her body until his face was above hers. “I want to watch you come like that every fucking day”, he murmured. Their mouths engaged in a sultry kiss, their bodies clung together from chest to knee, and Ian burned in need to be inside of her, to enter her again and again until he forgot his own name.

Britta took his cock in her hand and slid it up and down her cunt, and then pushed it inside her in one swift motion. Ian held his breath. He held still. Britta looked at him, her thumbs tracing the shape of his eyebrows. Ian retreated and pushed back in. His eyes were on hers. But the pleasure was so great, so conquering, that he closed his eyes and just followed the rhythm of his hips against Britta's.

Many sounds fled his mouth, many words. Her name was a constant out of his lips, and he matched it with a powerful thrust each time. He felt her reach between them, but his right hand replaced hers, and his left one took both her hands and placed them on the pillow above their heads. He heard a moan, and then another. He thrust harder, deeper, his fingers caressed her clit with eagerness. She clamped around him in a second orgasm, and he couldn't take it. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and came, he came with unmeasurable force and cried out with unmeasurable pleasure. _Good Lord_ , no comparable feeling.

His breath was like steam on her skin. They were still, save for their breathing. He'd released her hands, and they moved to his shoulders and embraced him. She tried to count the freckles on his right shoulder, but there were too many; they formed an anonymous constellation and they scattered in every direction at the same time.

 _I've underestimated how much I like you_ , she thought. Ian looked at her, “yeah?”, he asked. 

“Did I say that aloud?” _Shit_.

“How much do you like me? 'Cause I'm fucking crazy about you”.

Britta smiled. “I like you a lot. A lot, a lot. What's more than a lot? Let's see... A shit-ton. Yeah”. They both laughed. Ian kissed her. His haven, indeed. That mouth of hers was more thrilling than all the booze in the world. He kissed her with the same tenderness he'd kissed her in the storage room, but this time she fully gave herself to the kiss, returning it with equal sweetness. He rolled over and lied by her side. Her fingers grazed his shoulder in random patterns.

“How many...?”, she whispered.

“How many what?”

“Freckles. Your shoulders are speckled with miriads of them. Freckles are super sexy”. Ian smiled.

“We...”, he started.

“Didn't wear a condom? Yeah. I mean, no”. Britta wrinkled her nose. “Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away. I know it's no ex-”

“stop”. If he was honest, a condom had been the last thing on his mind at that moment. He'd been too caught up in what was happening: Britta had unraveled in a beautiful orgasm, and he'd laid abover her, his mouth firmly attached to hers, sharing her own flavor with her, and her legs had twisted around his waist and she'd grabbed his cock and...

He had buried himself deep within her, and yes, his body did register the fact that he wasn't wearing a condom, but he was unable to bring himself to give a single shit. She felt amazing, by God that she'd felt amazing all around him, all bare.

“Assuming it was a mistake, it was on both our parts. But, I don't have any... any problems in that area, and nor do you. And you, being Britta, are using birth control, so I think we're good”. It was his turn to shut his eyes and wrinkle his nose.

“That's a lot of assumptions you made right there. But you are right. Just let me ask you: how can you be so sure I don't have any 'problems in my area'?”. Her air quotes were followed by a smirk and a raise of her eyebrows.

Ian didn't even hesitate when he answered. “Cause you would have told me. You wouldn't have been so careless, so selfish. You are many things, Britta Perry, but you're not selfish”.

She looked at him. She could describe Ian as a hit or miss kind of person. His behavior could be quite erratic sometimes, and he often used the trial and error methodology in his interactions with people. But she knew he was a very good psychologist. And she realized that maybe he knew her more than she gave him credit for. “Well, thank you, I guess”. “You're welcome”, he told her, a smile across his face.

Britta slid closer to his body. She had never been a cuddler, and she didn't intend to start now. Her fingertips landed on his cheek, then moved to his lips. They continued their descent, learning the feel of his neck, his collarbone, his chest. Ian was on his side, a transfixed look on his eyes.

Britta found herself obsessed with his body. She had enjoyed the perfection of Jeff's body: its stature, its hardness, its defined muscles. It certainly had made sex fun, even if Jeff wasn't exactly a top-notch lover. He was far too selfish, far too narcissistic. He was more invested in worshiping that perfect body of his than in sharing it.

Ian, on the other hand, was on the opposite end of the spectrum. His body was still aesthetically pleasing: he was tall and thin; his shoulders were broad and his hips, narrow. He wasn't as Men's Health Cover worthy as Jeff, but he was still an attractive man. No, the thing about Ian was that his body was approachable. He was soft and warm; so soft, so warm. His pale, freckled skin was absolutely inviting. His muscles were not for show, but for shelter. And his strength didn't feel crushing, it felt challenging. His weight, when he was lying on top of her, had felt reassuring. It was the weight of two orgasms, and that was a weight she was certainly willing to bear. And now she was obsessed with his body.

She sat up and then pushed him softly, making him lie on his back. Her hand caressed his thigh. He had footballer's legs: they were long and strong. “You have very nice legs”, she told him. It didn't take a degree in pyschology to realize that Ian was very insecure about his looks, which were a good source of his typical self-deprecating humor. She looked at him: she also knew that the british had a tough time accepting compliments. Well, tough luck then, cause she was ready to compliment the shit out of him.

“I can't tell if you're being sarcastic”, was his response. He was, indeed, looking at her with a confused expression on his face. She shook her head. “No”. She hesitated. She wanted to let him know how attractive she found him, but she didn't want to patronize him.

“You do have very nice legs. Nice everything, actually. If I didn't find you attractive, I wouldn't be here”. She kept her eyes on him; she needed him to believe her, she needed him to know that he didn't need to look like Jeff to be desirable.

Ian felt so incredibly naked, so exposed. But he had no reason to question Britta's words. He knew he wasn't the most good-looking man on the planet, but Britta's kindness would never get to the point of lies or condescending remarks. And her gaze made him feel wanted, which was a fucking amazing feeling. He smiled at her. “Thank you”, he whispered.

He wanted to hold her, but Britta had other things in mind. She grabbed his cock, and a devilish smile appeared on her face. “Are you ready for another round?”.

“That depends. What are you planning to do with that... hand?”. Britta had begun to slide it up and down, her other hand playing with his testicles. She leaned forward and bit his chest, then she bit his shoulder.

“Are you branding me?”, asked Ian.

“Hmm. Hadn't thought about it like that, but now that you mention it...” She bit his earlobe, then kissed his neck. Ian's breathing was fast and shallow, and his hands were wandering about her back, only to twine themselves in her hair and direct her face to his. Their lips met, and they both felt that every time they kissed they found themselves in a point where their mouths were, at the same time, strange lands awaiting exploration, and known, toured islands they were intensely acquainted with. That feeling was thrilling, for it made their kisses infinitely passionate.

He was already hard, and Britta, with great slowness, descended until her mouth was seeking his cock. It found it and engulfed it. Ian had to close his eyes for one second, but then opened them again. Britta's mouth hovered over it, her tongue licking the head coyly. His hips moved slightly upwards, and Britta gave him a raised eyebrow.

“What do you want me to do?”, she asked.

Ian swallowed. “Put it in your mouth”.

“Put what in my mouth?”. Her expression was so salacious yet so falsely naive. “My cock. Put my cock in your mouth. Put my cock in your mouth and suck on it”.

She smiled and obeyed. A snake-like hiss left his mouth. She bobbed up and down, his cock disappearing and then reemerging, each time wetter. He tried not to pump his hips into her mouth, but it was so hard, it was so fucking hard. Britta sensed his struggle and stayed still for one second, her mouth open. Ian caught the idea immediately, and he started to move his hips to and from, his cock entering Britta's mouth, its tip almost reaching her throat, and then retreating, only to go back in, and it was a perfect loop of maddening sensations, and Britta laid her hands on his pelvis and forced him to stay still while she regained control, his cock in and out of her mouth on her command.

Ian felt tense, and he was so submersed in his own pleasure that he didn't realize he was pulling Britta's hair, that his movements had become more forceful. Britta retreated, sitting up straight. She licked her lips while she looked at him, and she lowered her head to give him a soft bite on his stomach. She then moved up his body and straddled him.

“I'm gonna ride the fuck out of you”, she murmured. Ian nodded, setting his hands down on her hips.

“Ride me, ride the fuck out of me, love”. He was inside her as soon as he finished his sentence. Britta moved slowly at first, rocking her hips back and forth, and he filled her rather nicely, she thought, or she felt, or both.

She started to gather speed, she started to move her hips in circles and she felt Ian's hands on her breasts and then she was too far gone to be aware of her own thoughts. She just moved, feeling that cock slide in her, out of her, and she arched her back and supported her weight on her hands, which were currently on his thighs, and she didn't stop moving, the new angle making her whimper and moan because _that_ feeling washed away all the other feelings.

She rode him hard, racing towards an orgasm that was so, so close.

A scream erupted from her throat, and her whole body contracted. Her muscles tightened and Ian responded to her orgasm with his own. She felt him hold onto her and shoot his hips upwards, a low moan resonating between them.

She was panting, she was sweating. She let gravity push her down onto his body, and his arms welcomed her.

“We're gonna fuck every day, right?”, she asked, her lungs fighting for a breath, her skin sticking to his, her face pressed against his chest. It rumbled softly with his laughter.

“Every fucking day, at least twice”.

*****

They had sex again in his kitchen.

Britta's stomach had started growling, and Ian realized he hadn't had dinner either, so they went to the kitchen to look for some food. They ended up fucking against the counter, after eating, of course.

Afterwards, they managed to muster enough energy to go back to the bedroom. Britta took a shower, and so did Ian. She refused to go to bed without brushing her teeth, but since Ian had only one toothbrush and sharing it would be kind of gross, she had to settle for floss and mouthwash. She wore her knickers and one of his shirts as pajamas.

“Is it weird that seeing you in that shirt makes me wanna fuck you?”, he asked.

“Hey, that's how I feel!”, she replied.

They were exhausted, so they slipped under the covers -Ian had to set the bloody alarm beforehand, since it was a fucking wednesday- and kissed each other goodnight. But that small, sweet goodnight peck on the lips turned into a sensual kiss when Britta unconsciously licked his lower lip. Ian's tongue responded in kind, and for a few minutes they just laid one in front of the other, mouths once again exploring each other with slow licks and gentle flicks, and then someone's teeth had to sink into someone's lower lip, and a moan and a giggle followed. 

"So, morning sex, right?", Britta asked.

"Definitely, miss Perry", he said, winking at her.

They looked at each other. Their expressions were weary and deeply satisfied. They remained entangled, and Ian reached for a cover. Their breathing was begining to return to its normal patterns, and soon Ian was fast asleep, his arm curled around her waist. Britta yawned.

 _It will be pretty easy to love you, Duncan. Pretty damn easy_. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That "Miss Perry" at the end is definitely a shoutout to CeleryLapel :)


End file.
